


One Week

by BloodyRedQueen



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Roger Peralta is a Bad DAd, Whump, hurt Jake, jake whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18369881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyRedQueen/pseuds/BloodyRedQueen
Summary: "It probably took 10 minutes too long to realize Jake stopped breathing. She'd gotten caught up in listening to his dad talk, right along with everyone else in the precinct, that she didn't realize it'd been a while since Jake said anything. Looking over at him, he was white as a sheet. She suspected  it wasn't his vitamin D deficiency, though he almost definitely had one.She decided to take notes while Roger was in town. And, as with everything, things started slow and before she knew it spiraled out of control  "In which Roger Peralta is much, much worse than Amy could've expected





	1. Chapter 1

It probably took 10 minutes too long to realize Jake stopped breathing. She'd gotten caught up in listening to his dad talk, right along with everyone else in the precinct, that she didn't realize it'd been a while since Jake said anything. Looking over at him, he was white as a sheet. She suspected it wasn't his vitamin D deficiency, though he almost definitely had one. 

She had a hunch. Obviously their relationship wasn't great, but how bad could it have been? Jake had talked about missing his Dad after his parents had split up, so how bad could things be?

She decided to take notes while Roger was in town. And, as with everything, things started slow and before she knew it spiraled out of control  
..................................................................................................................................................

On Monday Jake showed up, on time, with a straight tie. 

"Damn Jake" Rosa said as he walked into the bullpen. He was fiddling with the bottom of the tie with his fingers, clearly uncomfortable. There were still creases in the tie from where it'd been folded up at the store. 

"Detective Peralta, you clean up well." The Captain is standing in the doorway to his office, and by now Jake is sitting at his desk. She would've expected by now he would be bragging about what a hot catch he is, but instead he's just lightly blushing and mindlessly paging through files. He's clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but the squad just keeps going. 

"Alright, Terry's ready for everyone to get back to work now" 

Just that easy, the morning goes on. But she's still paying attention to how Jake is only working on his Dad's case, compiling a file with the identities and backgrounds of everyone that could've framed his Dad. If she didn't know better, she'd say this is the most focused he's been in years. He doesn't stop to try and shove as much work as he can onto her desk, doesn't fiddle with any of the small, colorful toys she knows help him think. He doesn't even notice when she tries to bring up a perp she busted whose last name was literally Siemen. If he was being weird yesterday, he's being a new Jake today. 

Around lunchtime, his Dad pops in for a few minutes. She knows Jake can see him coming through the reflection of his computer, but he doesn't react until Roger is right behind him. She doesn't miss the flinch when Roger's hand clamps onto Jake's shoulder. 

"How's the case coming along, son?" 

Jake swallows, and she knows it's what he does when he needs to buy himself a few seconds to get his thoughts together. 

"It's going good! Still in the preliminary stages, the prelims if you will, but..." 

Jake trails off, and she swears it's only her that sees Roger's hand tighten on Jake's shoulder. There's no way that's comfortable. Jakes nervous smile tightens, is more forced. 

"I got it, though." 

Roger looks from Jake, to the paperwork, then back up to Amy, and his face morphs from barely veiled frustration to shock, then disinterest. His hand finds it's way to his side. 

"And how are you today, Detective... San Diego?" Roger asks

"Santiago" Jake and Amy say it at the same time, and when they make eye contact Jake smirks a little. It's the first time he's really looked like himself since his Dad walked into the precinct yesterday. 

She doesn't miss the flicker of annoyance on Roger's face. 

....................................................................................................................................................

On Tuesday, Jake is already at the office when she gets there. Which is absolutely the first time that's ever happened. And on top of that he looks fucking exhausted. Which is absolutely not the first time that's ever happened. 

"Good Morning sleeping beauty" He says as soon as the elevator opens, and then spends upwards of 2 minutes trying to cover for calling her a "beauty". She eventually stops him. 

"And anyway, not that I have any right to comment on how you look, especially as a man and a coworker-"

"Jake. Why are you here?"

At that he looks down at his desk, almost like he's asking himself the same question. 

"Oh- you know- just- grinding. Just groinding on my case! Groind all day, all night"

It sounds like Jake, but there's no energy there. They work in companionable silence until the rest of the precinct shows up. And she registers each member of the squad shoot Jake a worried look. 

She doesn't know what to do. No idea what to say. The only one that does is Gina, and it's clear to Amy that Gina and Jake had gotten in some kind of fight earlier in the week. Whenever Jake gets up to go to the bathroom, and that's the only time he stops working anymore, he stares at Gina when he leaves his desk. Trying to make eye contact. 

She can't help but feel bad for him. There's something wrong here. And she's planning on talking to him about it, she really is, but he leaves early, mumbling something about chasing a lead. 

And out of everything, maybe her worst mistake was not stopping him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday

His heart is beating faster than he thought possible. He can't remember where he is, can't remember how he got here. He's shivering cold, his ankle is resting in some kind of liquid. It smells rank. He has to move but every muscle strains against the motion. 

He cracks open his eyes and sees nothing but cloudy Brooklyn skies. He's in an alleyway, he kind of remembers being shoved into it, fists connecting with his jaw. Steel toed boots connecting with his ribs. In his memories it happened to someone else, years and years ago. Could it've really been earlier in the day? Prodding at the memories feels not unlike pushing a red hot poker into his brain. He blinks his eyes, hard, but it doesn't lessen his head ache. 

Somewhere, something is ringing. He spares a coherent thought to his phone, but when he checks it there's no notifications. No, the ringing was just in his ears. And suddenly, Jake Peralta is 8 years old, and getting into an argument with his Dad. He desperately wants to go to Gina's house for the weekend, but his Dad doesn't want to drive him, and after 20 minutes of fighting Jake goes to storm away. Only, he's barely turned around when suddenly his Dad's hand is circling around his wrist, roughly pulling him back. 

"Don't you walk away from me!" 

Ah, that's what's been ringing in his ears. 

The past couple hours come into sickening clarity. He'd left Captain a voicemail, let him know he was going to be working on some leads in his Dad's case, wouldn't be in until well after noon. And he considered it a testament to the Captain's trust in him that he'd immediately agreed. 5 years ago Raymond almost definitely would've accused him of taking the morning to nurse a hang over, but instead he was told to follow up with the captain later in the day and called it good. 

When Jake had walked into his Dad's motel room, surprise surprise, the man was emptying out pills on the table, absent mindedly chopping the powder into smooth lines. The shower was running, women's shoes by the door. He'd looked at his Dad, let the shock settle into his twisting gut, and walked back out. 

Shame, like hot oil, burned his throat. He needed to go back to the precinct. He couldn't arrest his Dad. He needed Amy. His ears were roaring, thoughts racing. 

Good christ, he thought he was a good detective. Didn't even notice his Dad's hand, circling his wrist. 

"Don't you walk away from me!"

And everything had gone black. 

Well, Jake thought, slouching over himself in the alley way, at least he didn't have any more illusions about his Dad. At least he had the security of knowing he was a real piece of shit. The back of his head burned, and he rubbed it, only to come away with blood covering his hand. Huh. That really was a lot of blood. 

"Amy?" He asked into the alleyway. Wasn't completely certain why. She didn't answer, Jesus, she wasn't even there. And where was he, again? And how did he get here? He felt like he knew, should've known. Something to do with his Dad. 

"Peralta? Hello?" 

He looks down at his hands, his phone clutched tightly in one trash-juice soaked palm. 

"Hello?" He asks

"Detective Peralta? Can you hear me?"

He holds the phone to his ear. It takes a mountain of effort. 

"Who-" His voice cracks, dryness splitting his throat in half, "who is this?"

"This is Captain Raymond Holt. You've called me on your portable phone. Detective Peralta, do you know where you are?" 

And Jake still feels like a little kid, and he's lost and hurt and he has no idea what's going on. And shame is still roiling in his gut, an oily snake. 

"I don't know who you are" He mumbles, more to himself than anyone else. And the roaring white noise is back, and he looks up at the sky, a thin sliver between the buildings holding him in the alleyway. It's all gray, he thinks. And of course it's gray, it's April in Brooklyn, and he says "brooklyn" over the phone like it'll help. 

His eyes scan for purchase and understanding, but it just won't come. Like all the sounds and noises and colors are a puzzle that Jake can't put together. But he knows someone that's great at puzzles, she could solve just about anything if he could just remember. 

He hears something from the ground, looks down at his phone that's now clattered onto the cement. 

"Hello?" He says into it

"Peralta stay where you are. An ambulance is on the way to assist you. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Jake can hear sirens. Even through the haze of his mind, his last functioning brain cell tells him they've tracked his phone. His lips are too dry. What even was the last thing he remembered?

He decides to take a nap.

__________________________________________________________________________________

On Wednesday, Jake Peralta is admitted to the Intensive Care Unit. 

When Holt first answers his phone, says "Hello, Captain Holt speaking" her stomach drops. Call it a gut feeling but Amy is averse to gut feelings by instinct. It's just ... detective work. Jake had been due to come in an hour ago for a midday meeting with Holt. Jake had been working a case with his decidedly sketchy father. Jake Jake Jake. 

She's giving Holt the eagle eye from her desk. God forbid she snoop, but she's here if he needs her to do anything. And, her detective skills tell her, he will. 

Within minutes she's tracing Jake's phone, thanking God that he'd chosen some cheap piece of garbage that sold all the users data to the FBI. Makes things easier. He's between a few buildings next to a seedy motel. His phone's been there for hours. Her stomach drops even further, to think of Jake lying, bleeding, in hurt alone for hours. 

She's in the ambulance when they arrive on the scene. She'd used some excuse about needing to be on site to collect essential evidence, but really she just needed to be there first. 

And she steps out of the ambulance, into the alley where he's propped himself up, she can hardly recognize him. 

He's laying in some trash, not that that's outside his normal, but he looks... lost. She was hoping to see him crack some jokes about finally finding his people, but it's like he doesn't even recognize her. He's got his phone clenched in his left fist, which is sitting limp in his lap. Blood is running all down the sides of his face, and when she takes a few steps forward he almost... scrambles backwards away from her. He makes a high, keening noise of fear. 

"Jake? It's me, it's Amy" 

She can see the frustrated tears gathering in his eyes. 

"My name is Amy Santiago, I'm a detective, we're here to help you" 

He's still looking at them with a fair amount of distrust, but the EMTs are more worried about the cut on his head than they are his feelings so they rush forward. At first, he resists, but after a few minutes an EMT grabs his wrist to take his pulse and he goes completely slack. 

Not for the first time this week, Amy feels absolutely useless.

**Author's Note:**

> First B99 fic!


End file.
